At the Mercy of Darkness
by Engineer Jess
Summary: Chronicles of Warp Darkmatter's youth and history.
1. The Reincarnation

**Author's jabber: I don't believe I'm going to update this story quite often, but I put this chapter as a placeholder here. I'm aiming to a darker story with this one, something that I did with Episode 1. Thanks to EMZ and Heather for ideas and help, and Captain Buzz Lightyear for info material. Yes, I may have big contradictions with the actual show (and maybe even with my other stories because I'm absent-minded) but blame it on the folks who won't air it here on TV. OK flame if you find it necessary. Buzz Lightyear of Star Command © Disney/Pixar. Choi Zarah G'Deneb © Engineer Jess **

**At the Mercy of Darkness**

**1. The Reincarnation**

The beginning night was cool with a little fitful wind causing the persiennes and loose outside advertisement frames to clack and clatter. Occasionally there could be seen a couple of light raindrops coming down from the black cloud masses hovering bleakly above the roofs. If then someone was able to distinguish the actual clouds from the smog. Those warm gentle kisses of summer died gradually away, leaving their way for the embraces of autumn. This was maybe the first aura of the fall rains, yet fading still away. Only the clouds roamed there above, letting their inners pour elsewhere. No afterglow was reflected in them, the sun somewhere behind them went to sleep without a golden glow.

Somewhere there, in the middle of a nameless district, was wandering an alien boy. Maybe eight or nine years he had reached in a relevant human age. Dirty, white wisps of hair were glued to his face, and somewhere from behind them blinked a pair of almost black eyes. The regard in them was tired, extinct, something that such a young lad would have not gained if living in a decent family. No, they were the brands of destitution, misery, poverty… those blank pupils and the brows that were drawn deep in wrinkles told about the nights spent in the open air. Thus although he had not even reached his first tenth, his soul was as if it had seen the march of twenty years. A stray, yes.

Walking with his bare feet on the muddy lane, his little figure looked just as depressing as the environments. The notorious Trade World was his home, this dirty ghetto somewhere a bit above the sewer structures. Clothed with some rags that resembled a jacket, a long shirt, and worn-out jeans, were covering the long and thin limbs of this child. Greyish-green skin peeped from under the dirt that was decorating his cheeks. And what was his aim here on this abominable back street? The figure of a trash can in the dead end part of it. Yes, those kinds of things were his supplies for living besides stealing. This time of the day was his usual garbage can tournée hour. Into the shapeless knapsack he had hanging on his other shoulder, he used to collect everything he found usable.

One bleak street light cast its pallid rays above the brick wall that cooped up the narrow road. Above there, raised up the apartment houses, as dispiriting-looking as the spaces underneath there. The boy padded along the patchy pavement, getting his little feet even more covered with the mire, as a puddle happened to stand on the dot where he aimed his step. His soles were however used to such hiking, so the boy did not give a piece of blazar about that earthy litter any longer. His thoughts were addressed to ponder the inners of the looming large tin container back there, under that lamp. He passed by a couple of messy graffities before tapping to the wonderful object. And what was there else to wait but that the limbo was too high for him? Thus after finding an old box to lengthen his legs a bit, he was ready to tear the heavy trashcan lid open.

"Ok lessee…" he mumbled to himself with a high-pitched voice, "I got lotsa stuff l'ready but if I fin' 'ere som'thin… I coul' earn a couple o' bucks more, don't hafta do pickpocketin' then…" Yes, hard talk for a person of his age. However, had he actually an age any more…? This kid was a grown-up and ragged from inside, lost his childlike innocence in the maltreat of street life. Playing with video games was not his hobby, neither going boy-scouting or ice-hockeying. Only trying to gather up some doleful dimes by sinking his hands into the abysses of crimes.  

Hence after the lid was open, it was time for actions. Item by item he tossed junk out of the bin, envisaging though if there was something proper left from the less poor people. "Ok so I donneed a bag fullo ol' sardine cans… an' no… wait wazzup here…" From a half-open plastic bag he found some a bit over-ripe bananas. Peeling one of them he crammed it into his wide mouth with both hands and then continued the trash-digging, munching the possibly only supper he would have this night. Next his little fingers approached something harder down there. It was a plastic case with some nanolaserdisks inside it. With the skills he had this far gathered from different places, he was able to spell slowly the text on the case.

"Yod… Yode… Yodels from Al… Alps… sun--g by… Sp--spi-c…e… Spice G-g-ir-l-s…" Staring for a while at the case, he unzipped the knapsack and threw it in there among the other junk. "Whateva… mebbe som'one stupid buys it."

Continuing the work, he suddenly got himself to prick up his pointy ears. Had he heard a small cry coming from somewhere?

"Nah nothin'" he gave a little smack with his lips and swallowed the last pieces of the banana.

There was a big metal box down there under some half-rotten food. The boy was interested in to see what this item might contain. Stretching his both arms he gripped it, attempting to heave it up… and again. A cry. A miserable whimper coming from nowhere.  

"Who's there?" the smeary boy startled a bit.

No answer in a few seconds. Just the silence of the dark backstreet. Then… another whimper, this time a longer one.

"Wuz that?" he scratched confused his white-grey hair. "Babies cry like dat, don't they? I've heard they cry like dat. But there ain't no baby 'ere."

However, now the noises continued. And this audio phenomenon got the wee male to turn his gaze back at the container he had been studying. No doubt, the squawking was coming from there. Nevertheless, the little street alien was one big question mark.

"Wuz that… is there a baby down there?" He tilted his head back and forth but inferred to make the riddle clearer. The moaning was coming from deeper there, yet from the upper layers but not from the direction of the metal box. The boy stepped into the large container from the lid hole, creeping then in. Some minutes grovelled, the streetlight eerily gleaming above the slum corner… and then the child appeared back from the litter lair even more squalid he had previously been. And something was in his arms, a packet that was stirring and wheezing.

He flopped down to sit on the pavement, leaning to the side of the dustbin. With hesitating moves he wrapped the greenish cloth away from around the noise-keeping parcel. Eyes wide open he gaped at the findings, a baby of maybe two-three months old… now resting on the support of his arm. Who knew how long the container had kept this tiny thing in its dungeons? There was fabric enough to keep it warm, but there ended the suits. A small boy it was, bluish-black hair growing strong on his head. The skin had bluish pigment, that much the half-dim lamppost gave clues.

Blinking his eyes the elder person examined flabbergasted the minor being. "Where's yer mommy?" 

Of course the baby had no skills to speak yet, but just continued the squealing.

"Shht…" the boy attempted to soothe the crying bundle. He had not a single grasp how to handle a child of that age, but endeavoured hard to figure out something. "Shht, I won't hurt ya… where's yer mommy? Or daddy? Ain't ya got no parents?" At the moment the talking one noticed that something was wetting his hand that he kept under the kid. What else would have been expected than that the trashcan person had… little urgencies. But he did not much care about this detail, hadn't he just been rummaging putrid goods down there?

The peeping had ceased somewhat. Maybe it was the warmth of the lap, or something. Or maybe just simply the presence of someone made the baby calmer. No one knew in what kind of state it had been lying there in the black inferno, but the rumbling there had apparently awakened it from some comatose state.

The elder boy kept on his questioning, amazed, befogged. "Ya got no mommy? But who left ya 'ere? Hmm, well me mommy left me. But that wuz a long time ago. A really long time ago." Fiddling the short, fluffy hair of the baby with his fingers, the street citizen continued, "So guess we're like tha same then, huh? Me mommy kicked me outta my home an' som'one left ya here, that's right?"

"_Waaa__!__ Uaaa!" was the clarifying answer._

"Yea… guess we're like tha same… wuz yer name? Got a name?"

"_Uaa__!__ Blrrrp!"_

"Me name is Wezen. But ya ain't got no name, that's right? Yer so li'l that ya got no name I guess. I ain't sure 'bout me surname really… me mommy told it me but I'm not sure… But I guess it's Darkmatter or som'thing." he kept a bit absent-mindedly talking to the baby who was now drooling his sleeve tacky.

"Ya know I can't put ya back there. But I dunno what I shoul' do… cause ya got no mommy…" Wezen had actually not many asteroids filled with knowledge in his head. What should he do with his extraordinary finding? That much heart he had that he could not abandon the puling one. Pity was the lodger of his conscience, although the merciless gutter life had quite much made him rough.

"Yer hungry wuz?" he again inquired the kid as if it could form understandable syllables.

"_Wrppllll__… brp."_

"I dunno what 'wrppllll' means but I guess yer hungry, that's right? An' yer cold. Well I woulbbe cold if I'd got only that kinda stuff on." Wezen structinized the fabric wrapped around the baby.

"_Wrrrplll__…" The crying had turned to gurgle._

"I guess I hafta take ya with me then 'cause yer mommy has not come here… and cause yer hungry an' all. Too bad I gotta leave my work but gotta take ya som'place. I guess I know som'one who could know whadda do…"

"_Wrrrprrrr__… brr… uaa." _

The boy's mouth was drawn to a little smile as he watched the child babble. "Wuz that wrrrplll or whateva ya say? I dunno wot it is but it sounds funny. Sounds like ya'd tryda say 'warp' or som'thing… Ya know I wuz once in this big ship a really long time ago… and they pressed some button an' said they put a warp on. Then I r'memba da stars went all gone an' we went really fast… kinda funny cause ya say it like all da time. Wrrrprr… wrrrrpppp. Sounds like ya'd try ta…  Hey what, guess, I'll call ya Warp cause ya ain't got no name and ya say it like dat all ta time", Wezen kept on his half-childish talk.

"_Blurb!" the wee being responded._

"No I ain't gonna call ya no Blurb. Warp is betta. An' by tha way it's cooler cause it puts the ships go really fast."

A big, cold raindrop that dropped right onto his nose got Wezen alarm from his position. Those clouds above there did certainly look menacing, although they plugged the ground only with occasional missiles.

"Lisn' Warp… we gotta leave now. Yer mommy won't come how much ya eva cried." Thus the little man folded the green canvas back around the baby, putting then the other front of his zipper jacket to shield him more. Swinging the weightyish knapsack onto his other shoulder, Wezen ultimately lounged away from the shady lane.

The night had advanced with long traipses as the greenish alien approached the livelier main streets. This drizzly evening in its all randomness had been one of those peculiar days in the space-timeline. What were actually the odds that this petite being would be found, and brought to daylight… as being already judged to death? Not very bright prospects had been given to his primary taps, indeed. In a few hours, he might have been slumbering in the eternal blackness already, without drink, shelter, warmth… only the sable Styx and the cold chambers of Šeol would be there… yearning for new residents to step into those cabins from where would be no raising back into the sunlight… 

To be continued… some day.


	2. Les Misérables

_Author's notes: I may have to rise up the rating of this story at some point, yet I try to keep it as PG-rated. As not to be confusing, I mention that this story is directly linked to my other BLoSC fanfictions, so this has plentiful of references to them. Thanks for all the reviews given this far._

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**2. Les Misérables**

The dusk had finally utterly fallen upon the teeming streets of Trade World. Wezen, the alien boy, was on his way to a place he called his home. But this was far, far away from the concept of a snug nook where the child possibly could be tugged, in the middle of warm bedsheets with an exciting adventure book for reading before turning to lull on the soft clouds of slumber. Namely, the lowest scum of this felon Eden lived also in the deepest abysses of the planetary city. The skyscrapers were for jet sets, Al Capones, and other gangster bosses. Then again the middle levels were for middle class citizens, little wealthy smugglers, and hotel rooms. On the street level, where the sea of alien life forms swarmed along the lanes, were the most hucksters, stores, and dwellings for average jacks and scallywags. Also there jutted ghettos in every other block, but those were not yet the worst armpits.

 Wezen placed the baby he was protecting more under cover. The wee boy had begun to whimper again; maybe this was a sign of hunger or fear, who was then able to recognize it. The carrier's bare feet splashed in puddles, turning to walk along another dismal backstreet, quite similar to that one where he had been on his trashcan sightseeing. In the end of it, on the paved ground, was a metallic lid of a manhole. It was a bit heavy to heave up for a child like Wezen, but he had used to toil regardless his yet not so powerful biceps. This youngster was already tough-lived. Thus he took a good grip of the hand-holds of it, pulling hard. The iron creakingly rose up from its nest, giving space for a steaming, stinking gap. Nevertheless, for him this filth and stench was quite indifferent, the main thing was that there was a cranny for him, giving shelter against the wind and cold weather. Picking up a glowing torch stone from his knapsack, Wezen then began to climb down the rusty ladders that leaded into the chasm of the sewer. The flashlight-type rock he had between his teeth while he with his left arm attempted to keep a hold on the abandoned baby. But skillfully he still succeeded to descend along the steep stairs, since in his early years he had grown to be agile as a monkey in a tree.

 The sewer system indeed was the home of the lowest rags this planet carried on its surface. No one could estimate the amount of plebs who hid there from the sunlight, even if one had taken the largest abacus of the galaxy for his aid. At that time, it was narrated that Trade World gave habitat for 15 billion people, but that was far, far away from the figures of truth. The catacomb-like tunnels that trailed under the ground like some giant wormholes, were full of untold stories about shoddy lives and deaths. There were thousands of colonies down there, and in the midst of so-called normal mob also skulked aliens who evaded assassins and bounty hunters. Living there was below all standards and social security issues, but did these people have any choice? Most of them were doomed to die early to the scarcity of nutrition, or to the lack of medicines when being sick. Yet there were few who made their way to the upper levels and found some day a brighter life there. However, they were very few, and for a random creeper there could be expected merely dark days that would yet end soon.

Wezen Darkmatter was one of those millions, just a little weak bubble amongst the ocean. And so was the beginning of Warp Darkmatter too, as a dwarfish flame of life somewhere deep in the darkness.

As the green boy ultimately had achieved the bottom of the ladders, began another walk. Nonetheless it was not troublesome, since the gutter community he lived in was quite near. He knew relatively well the giant drainpipes and crypts down there, so he had chosen a quick entrance with his knowledge. Wezen took quick steps along a narrow slip for walking that went along the wall of the stone tunnel. Beside him streamed a river of disgusting mess, the waste that came from the luxurious buildings above there. His pace needed to be rapid, since there were hostile life forms swimming in that muck. And also in the various tapering side tunnels that leaded to this wider one, were hiding bogeys. Rats, oozefish, Orkmordorian sewerlizards and alike creatures were dangerous for those, who could not defend themselves. Those lizards were the most insidious and fatal ones; they lurked in their hideouts as packs, suddenly attacking a prey from the most unexpected direction. But one shield there was against those; they were deadly afraid of light. Thus they were not the worst menace for the colonies, who at least had some kind of illumination, and ion protectors against the subterranean fauna.

One more junction was there to turn, and then in front of the street kid was a door with iron bars. He crammed the glossy rock into his pocket, since there was faint light coming from that subway where the gateway leaded.

"Hey! Open up it's me Wezen 'ere!" the boy produced a sharp yell, and gave a forceful kick against one of the grates.

A lanky man trotted visible in the other side of the entrance, unlocked the heavy latch by typing a recognition code into it. The unknown one, who worked as the janitor of this sewer-digs segment, opened the ponderous door a bit, and let the boy slink in.

"Did the fish catch today?" the man asked half-grinning while doing the closing labor.

"Nah not much I guess. But dunno wuz I'm gonna do with this. It wuz in a trash can an' it wuz cryin'." The child looked up to the guard and elevated the corner of his jacket. The addressed startled a bit, as he saw the toddler wrapped up in canvas. The tiny one had been quiet for a few minutes; hence the custodian had not spotted him immediately.

"A baby? Ya brought a baby here?" the adult sighed and came closer to Wezen. "Haven't ya poor boy heard that this village is already too full? We got no common food to feed more mouths no more. Ya gotta bring it back."

But as bullheaded as the green kid was, he took an angry pose and pressed the little whimpering packet against him. "But this wuz all alone! Ya hear me he wuz cryin' an' his mommy wuzn't dere! I ain't gonna take 'im back, he ain't got no mommy!"

"Now let's be serious, Wez. You can't keep that brat, or bring him here just like that. Who do ya think will take care of it?" the guardian rolled his eyes frustrated, "If ya think ya can take care of it, that's impossible. How do ya know how to handle a baby when you're just a bit more grown-up than a baby yourself?"

Wezen clenched his other hand to a fist, gnashing to the bigger male like some irritated poodle. For his age, he could reflect very mature thoughts about life and its value. "I ain't takin' this back! He'll die! DIE! I know wuz dat means, to die." Hot tears came to the corners of his eyes, next falling down and leaving messy stripes on his bony cheeks. "I've seen som'one die. I've really really seen dat and it wuz horrible! I really know this baby ain't got no mommy and he'll really die if I take 'im back! I can be his big brotha, I can keep 'im if I wonna!"

"Wez…" a sigh filled the corridor, "I dunno who's more stubborn you or a coin glued onto the street. But let's face it, kid. It's impossible to…" But the janitor left his sentence unfinished when he saw the child's frown. Darkmatter had a cutthroat gleam in his eyes, and would be expected that if the elder would speak one opposing syllable more, the green creature would sink his teeth into his leg. Wezen had a bad reputation because of that; he namely had the habit to bite the arguing counterpart if he did not get his wishes fulfilled.

"Drat you're a stiff-necked li'l flea. Hmph. But it's not in my hands, though, what to do with this case." Actually, the man felt a bit muddled in front of the grave questions of dignity.

"I go to tha chief. I'll ask 'im if I can keep me new li'l brotha. He'll know, he's a really really big boss an' he'll kick ya outta here if ya won't lemme in and he'll be really really mad to ya an'…" more defenses were heard coming with a high-pitched tone.

"Umh…"

"Yeah! I'll go an' say to tha chief dat ya didn't lemme in! An' then he'll be really mad and…"

"Alright, alright, ya can go. But go to the chief right now. It's up to him after all what to do with the kid ya brought and not me. And hey Wez, don't tell him I was a bit… nasty to ya." The guardian muttered uneasily the last syllables and finally let the messy boy go. Now the young Darkmatter could enter the place he called home.

The village where Wezen lived with several hundred other wretches was not quite an ordinary house to lodge. As said, the place resembled catacombs, excluding the skeletons and mummies lying around. Here the waste mess did not stream in its grooves, but it was dry and warm. There were large halls made with brick or just cut into the solid stone, forming craggy, odd-shaped rooms. Some were like ovals, some almost octagonal, some like pyramids. The floor was not even in every place, but there were fossas, and opposite to that, medium-sized stones jutting out of the flat surface. Those were nevertheless shaped so much that they could serve as tables. However, in a way extraordinary the life was here. In these big caves that were connected with short tunnels, people lived like in some big camp. Some had tattered shacks or tents put up from cardboard or thicker fabric. Some just stayed in the 'open air', meaning they had their whole fortune with them, a couple of blankets serving as a bed. So they slept all in the same space, which meant that the privacy was a completely unknown thing. In the nighttime, when most of the scum gathered to have a calmer moment here, the halls became cramped and often boisterous, too. Food was cooked here and there, with the aid of heating stones someone occasionally was able to find or pilfer. Fire could not be done, since it would have caused a catastrophe in the high-methane atmosphere. And basically fire was not needed at all, since the illumination could be done either with crystal torches or glowing stones. Very colorful the environment was, despite the fact that the poorness was reflected from everything. Aliens sat under the tent canvasses, some of them discussing with each other, some eating, some gathered to a group to do something they called community singing (although it mainly sounded like a flock of crows and frogs would have been put together in the same choir). This night seemed to be oddly calm, as Wezen walked through the camp hall to a second one. No fights were going on in the corners, no one was heard to moan about his or her miserable existence.

The first thing to do before the youngster went to see the village chief, was that he checked out his own little post at one side wall. Everything was there just like he had left it to be in the morning. Amidst two tents was his berth. From a couple of big cardboard boxes that he had brought from the outer world, he had built himself a tiny private chamber. There were some blankets on the floor forming a bed (unfortunately not so comfortable one, though). Higgledy-piggledy along the cardboard walls was spread his whole fortune; a pan for making food, some heating stones, a bucket, some kind of electronic gadgets that barely worked, and other miscellaneous objects among them.

Wezen's 'second-door' neighbor was an elder man, about sixty years old. He had seen misery for tens of years. Somehow he had still managed to hold his spirits up. He was known as one of the kindest persons of this particular cave, although he was a thief and robber whereas the others. Indeed, it was strange that the rabble here did rarely steal from each other, although they were nearly all doing that for keeping their stomachs filled with at least some food. Maybe it was just this sole fact. A population of ragamuffins maybe had compassion towards each other, since no one of the beside-sleeping was a rich spoiled minx with private pool and limousine. And added to this, almost everyone knew each other's backgrounds and happenings, at least those living in the same encampment hall. But as it was said, there were not many possibilities for playing a hermit, as the snores of the beside-living echoed at the ear.

"Wez, what did you bring home, one of those robot dolls they sell for little girls? Or what on Mars is whining under your arm?" the gray-haired man sitting at his tent inquired Wezen, who was checking out his own burrow.

"Nah, if it wuz one of 'em I could sell it." The boy swept some dirty hair locks away from over his eyes, and took Warp again from under his jacket. "I dunno where his mommy is. So I like took an' brought him 'ere." Blabbering something more about trashcans and weeping with his childish speech style, the boy gave the baby for the male to hold.

With sad eyes the neighbor took a careful look at the wee one. "I had once a boy… or maybe he's still out there somewhere. Dunno. Those were the times I still had a house… a home, before it was all burnt down and robbed." The sitting man had begun to ramble in the dusty years of his past. "My son grew up and left me… but you know that story, I've told it to you so many times that you probably will fall asleep if I begin to repeat it again like some over-stubborn parrot."

"Yuh." Darkmatter nodded.

"This kid had some luck… or dunno… is it any better to be here." From the glazed gaze of him could be seen how he wistfully beheld the better years in front of his view, as a distant memory. Hazy it was, but there they still were, somewhere in the recesses of his heart.

"Guess wut Hadar, I'm gonna be his big brotha!" Wezen proudly presented, banging his chest with a fist.

"Ha! You?"  the called, casually known in the camp as Poppa Hadar or Heed Hadar, laughed a bit at first. But then a serious expression spread across his wrinkled face. "Wez, this is not a kid's play. You know nothing about taking care of a baby. How do you think you can feed him?" he came to check out the light clothing of Warp that seemed to be half-wet. "Or… hmm… do you know anything about changing diapers?"

Wezen shrugged a couple of times, rocking his body back and forth. "Umm… not yet but I can learn! But I'm gonna be his big brotha. That's sure. That's really really sure."

"And who do you think is going to teach you?" a sharp and severe regard was aimed at him.

"Umm… I know! Mebbe ya could, Poppa Hadar!" the boy merrily yelped.

The gray-haired man went thoroughly dozy. Stammering he pointed himself with a thumb, "Me? _Me? But I…"_

"I knew ya woul' help me!" Wezen took this absolutely as an agreeing promise. He hopped a couple of times with his feet together and then bounced to hug the old man. "I knew, I knew, I knew! I'm gonna be his big brotha!"

Hadar was furthermore confused, but he could not say no to the child. His heart was too kind to reject a request like this. He knew very well that Wezen could not handle a wee baby alone, but would need someone to give him advice.

"Alright, alright, I help you", the male grinned a bit, then expressing again more severe issues. "But just for starters. You have to understand, kid, that I have my own life too. I have not much extra food, you have share yours with this… what was his name?"

"Warp!" "Warp Darkmatter! I gave 'im a really really cool name!" Wezen drew his mouth from ear to ear.

"What? _You named him? __Warp? What kind of name is that? Why not Hyperdrive Darkmatter then?" Hadar gave a cackle._

"That ain' no funny. Warp is a cool name!" came a snort back. "But now I gotta go. I gotta go ta see tha big chief 'cause I gotta ask dat can me li'l brotha now stay 'ere!"

The messy boy was about to snatch the baby away from Hadar's arms, but the elder one had just the time to hold the overenthusiastic child still the one radical second.

"Wait, wait… did you say he has not even a permission to be here yet?"

"Umm well no I guess… but… I'm going ta ask it now."

Shaking his head the hoary alien stood up. "Look, Wez, you can't do that alone. I think I have to come with you and speak myself to the chief. You're not believable enough if you go alone there to explain that you want to take care of this… this _Warp or whatever he was. Seriously, couldn't you have picked up any less goofy name? It sounds like someone would have opened up a toolbox and chosen the name from there." Hadar began to take slow steps across the camp limping a bit. Wezen trotted beside him, snorting to the elder man's joking. "So if you decided to take it on the spaceship gear, then why not Hackwrench Darkmatter, or Transistor Darkmatter, or Screwdriver Darkmatter, or Cogwheel Darkmatter…"_

"Don't be silly, Hadar!" the youngster poked the wrinkled one with his elbow. "Warp is a cool name! A lot cooler than me name is."

"Yeah, right. Crater Darkmatter…"

"Stop dat!"

And so it occurred that after long and choleric negotiations the village chief reluctantly gave his prokura. Warp's days were sealed, he would stay with Wezen. But this would mean finally stepping to adulthood for the green street child; yet he was not a child from inside any more. Maybe he could be able to fulfill his task as a freshly baked big brother, giving shelter to this tiny abandoned soul. Hard and toilsome diurnals would be ahead, but today the adolescent was not aware of the monsters of the future.

It was almost midnight local time as Hadar and Wezen pattered back to their tents. Now the cave hall was completely full of life, most of the habitants had returned from their street tours and gathered here to rest. The smell of roasted meat hovered in to the nostrils of the incomers, making their stomachs croak in hunger. At the small well that was dug in the middle of the hall, probably centuries ago, were gathered women to heave up fresh water from it. This important drinkable fluid flowed straight from the phreatic water vessels, so it was cold, lucid and fresh. This was maybe the only luxury this ghetto owned, and thus it was protected strictly from the terrestrial mess. 

"Wez, I think we need to put up a little celebration because of our new citizen here", Hadar chuckled while the males had reached their posts.

"Wuz? Cool!"

"Guess what this old guy snared today?" he continued his guffaw, "I bamboozled a couple of Orkmordorian sewerlizards and grilled them. I've kept them fresh in the small condenser chamber I got in my tent. We're going to have a good supper!"

"Wow! Coolness!" the boy whooped. Hadar was a good cook despite that he was a male robber, and his gratins tasted always as brilliant. Even if it was rat steak or relevant. "Umm… but wuz tha baby gonna eat?"

"Well, he has no alternative but to get used to square meals. Otherwise he can't survive. So there's also sewerlizard for him on the menu, after you have changed him something dry on."

And so the camp gradually quieted down, as the common sleeping hours began. Voluntary guards walked across the tent areas, keeping an eye on possible intruders and attacking beasts. Low-cost ion shield generators (stolen from who knew where) were giving shelter from the sewer wildlife quite well. But cooperation from everyone was needed, in order to avoid the hazards coming from outside, now and in the future. However, at least this night was warm and safe in the course of time.          

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Let us take a peek at the future, where the menaces were lurking ill-omened. A few years later, not so very far from Trade World, an evil shadow had begun greedily to cast its eyes over the galaxy. Those eyes were full of hatred, anger, and especially voracity; ready to finish off everyone who would dare to step on the way of their owner. Once those eyes had possessed a gentle dark-brown regard, and the brows above them had not been crumpled to express evilness. But the mild, yet very pragmatic and sharply intelligent look in them had turned to plain darkness some years ago. And now, the last inches of humanity were drawn away from them, as they were sealed up under a hiding mask, glowing red evil fire.

Yet did not know the little Warp Darkmatter (at that future time about five years old) that he was very, very soon going to encounter this shadow closely. Too closely. It would be a mere coincidence that their paths crossed each other, leading to sole and one path, a path to the dark side. His few years would be turned upside down, turning to slavery…

Yet now were the eyes not concealed under the menacing helmet that hid their faded existence. They stared at a one single spot in a wall, apparently hard pondering reflecting from them. The shadow who was their Master, stirred a little, attempting to find a better position in an uncomfortable, hard, massive chair.

"I will find them! I shall get the every last single one of them into my hands! Graargh!" the dark figure bellowed, hitting its clawed fists against the armrests of the seat, or rather said a _throne._

"You were supposed to have gained your prize. From the hands of my Master! You were supposed to be no more! But I shall find you, every single one of you who destroyed my life… and pay back… pay back the pain." Furibundly his metallic fingers scraped themselves along the hand-rail of the seat, making an ear-splitting creak. From the together-bitten teeth of this male could be seen that he at least attempted to hold back his anger, but it was near that he would have erupted like a volcano and filled the room with thousands of degrees of hatred's heat.

This person, the one willing to spend his days amongst the darkness, under a crimson sky, was only for a few months ago crowned to emperor. Young he was, powerful, full of viril strength. Twenty-six years had reached the monarch, parading with his height and very robust body. Yet now he did not look so full of might, as he sulked in his throne, plotting malicious schemes against those who had turned his brilliant youth into a wasted sacrifice for the dark side. Yes, this person was the notorious royal the Galaxy would become to know as Evil Emperor Zurg. Nevertheless the eras had not yet brought him such glory, such reputation. His Empire was still tiny compared with what it would be, when it would be decades later spreading its black tentacles over the whole Zeta Quadrant, like some giant octopus from the deepest and murkiest waters.

What became to Zurg's current apprehension… it was caused by the memories beyond some years. He had managed to hear for a while ago, that there were still those out there, who had taken part of one particular murder. When Lord Zora had still served as the apprentice of Evil Emperor Zidár, he had thought that every single one of his life's destroyers were subdued for eternities. But no, this was not true, as he had lately found out. And what were the results as he had for his misfortune comprehended this…? More tantrums, blusters along with the bitter keepsakes that came back as flashes into Zurg's mind… those mementos that were supposed to be choked back. The frail flame of goodness that might have still lived in some cranny of his heart, was extinguished atrociously. Now this Dark Lord felt only emotions of pure avenge.

This sniff of trails leaded his imperial spies' steps right towards Trade World. There had once been the lair of the assassins and their henchmen that had taken part of the action against the virtuous young Zoxedasžeĉ Zora Lightyear. And the rumors told there still were _those alive, fleeing him… who had been there joining the schemes against him. For Zurg this was a grave matter, since he was sworn that he would get his peace on his past. But so were not the happenings, as his top agents had found out._

In a certain sewer colony of Trade World were hiding two of those villains. And there would Zurg attack as soon as he would completely find out the site of it. 

To be continued…       


End file.
